


The Trouble with Hänschen

by xslytherclawx



Series: YOI AU Week 2017 [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Berlin (City), Friends to Lovers, Jewish Character, M/M, Theatre, YOI AU Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-25 17:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12537644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xslytherclawx/pseuds/xslytherclawx
Summary: Whenever someone asked Yuri why he moved to Berlin, he didn’t have a proper answer. It had simply happened.Germans, however, had proved a hard group to truly befriend, so maybe it wasn’t surprising that the only two people Yuri could consider friends in Berlin were Otabek Altin, a composer and musician from Almaty who’d moved to Berlin with his family as a kid, and Mila Babicheva, an actress and singer from St. Petersburg.(for YOI AU Week, day three: different era)





	The Trouble with Hänschen

**Author's Note:**

> I won't be clarifying which era or country this is until the end (yes, it's Berlin, but Berlin hasn't only been in one country for all its history), but rest assured that I would not put a Jewish character in Berlin any time around WWII. That's all you get. 
> 
> (half of the beta readers I ran this by did figure out the decade and the country by the fic itself, but I guess if you're really anxious to know, you can view the notes at the end, but where's the fun in that?)

Whenever someone asked Yuri why he moved to Berlin, he didn’t have a proper answer. It had simply _happened_. Sure, his grandfather, naturally, had his own problems with Yuri living in Berlin, but after Yuri had explained that a number of the high ranking officials in the government were Jewish (not that any of them were observant, but it wasn’t as if Yuri’s grandfather was _openly_ observant), and that in Berlin, Yuri could go to High Holiday services (not that he ever really _did_ ), his grandfather hadn’t complained as much. 

And sure, Yuri understood his grandfather’s concerns. And he knew that he was the only person his grandfather really had left (his daughter, Yuri’s mother, had somehow managed to emigrate to America, and Yuri used to hear whispers about her sometimes when he’d still lived in Moscow). But in Moscow, he had the communal apartment and probably no real luck in any artistic field.

In Berlin, by comparison, he had a job that he didn’t hate and a crappy apartment in Prenzlauer Berg with a private kitchen and bathroom. He had his cat, who was the love of his life. He made enough money to live relatively comfortably, and, even though the apartment itself was pretty shitty, it was all his. 

He’d gotten a gig recently with the Berliner Ensemble, which was a dream. After the first rehearsal, he’d gone out with his friends for a drink. Germans had proved a hard group to truly befriend, so maybe it wasn’t surprising that the only two people he could consider friends were Otabek Altin, a composer and musician from Almaty who’d moved to Berlin with his family as a kid, and Mila Babicheva, an actress and singer from St. Petersburg. Sure, okay, he had a few professional contacts who were German, but even Yuri knew enough to distance himself from a known dissident like Müller, with his Swiss boyfriend and staunch idealism. 

It wasn’t as if Yuri had much of a life outside of his job; he’d discovered his passion at an early age, and if he _weren’t_ an actor, he very much doubted he’d have ever met Otabek or Mila. He’d met Mila first; they’d played Marusia and Lyovka in a production of Babel’s _Sunset_ , and had been the youngest in the cast. It had been a very lucky break for Yuri, and if he hadn’t quite landed another lead role in a sizeable production since, well, he had speaking roles at least.

Otabek he’d met just last year, while working at a cabaret. Otabek had been one of the musicians, and he’d been the one to strike up a friendship with Yuri. Yuri couldn’t say he minded; Otabek had seemed so cool back then. He drove a motorcycle and wore a real leather jacket. Of course, that had been before Yuri had gone to Otabek’s apartment and seen the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stocked with thick books in several languages, or seen the way he acted around a cat. But somehow, Otabek’s bookishness and willingness to roll around on the floor to impress a cat had only endeared him further to Yuri.

Yuri made his way to the bar and was completely unsurprised to see Otabek already waiting outside. He was dressed respectably, which was how Otabek dressed most of the time, but Yuri still felt his pulse quicken at the sight of the man who’d quickly become his very best friend in the whole world. Otabek’s normally stern expression softened into a smile when he saw Yuri.

Yuri knew, really, the importance of not telling any one person everything, at least in theory. He’d heard the stories of people who had put all of their trust in the wrong person, and how they’d rotted away in prison, often suffering the _special_ torture of forced sleep deprivation until a confession was pulled from them. 

But Yuri, despite his grandfather’s warnings and the many stories he’d heard in both Moscow and Berlin, trusted Otabek implicitly, and told him everything. It wasn’t like there’d be anything _to_ report on, if he _were_ an informant. Yuri kept a clean profile. He had to, with his mother being who she was, and with his grandfather’s decades-long plan to emigrate. Yuri knew with a family like that, there was already a file on him, and he needed to be careful if he didn’t want to get blacklisted.

He didn’t want to emigrate, and he tried to keep himself as ignorant as possible of state affairs so that he didn’t _have_ anything to criticise. So, really, he didn’t see the harm in trusting Otabek as deeply as he did. Yuri was sure that, at this point, Otabek knew more about him than his own grandfather did.

“Yura,” Otabek said in that warm, gentle tone of his. “It’s so good to see you.”

Despite the chilly October night, Yuri felt a rush of warmth. He embraced Otabek as soon as he was close enough. “I’m glad you came,” he said.

Otabek hugged him back, lingering perhaps a bit longer than strictly necessary. “Of course I came,” he said as he pulled away. “The Berliner Ensemble is a fantastic achievement. One that deserves celebration.”

Yuri grinned. “I _completely_ agree. Which is why we’re here.” He kicked absently at the ground, trying to quell the rush of emotions that always surfaced when he was around Otabek. “Should we wait for Mila, or go inside now?”

Otabek shrugged. “Might as well get a spot.”

That made sense, so Yuri agreed and they went inside. Otabek insisted on paying, so he went up to the bar and ordered them two beers and two shots of Berliner Luft. Yuri had hated the peppermint schnapps when he’d first moved to the city, but over the past year, Otabek had completely sold him on it. As Otabek stood at the bar, Yuri indulged himself, and let his eyes wander over every inch of Otabek’s body.

It wasn’t as if it was _new_. Yuri knew exactly how he felt about Otabek. With Paragraph 175 having been struck down, and beyond the added surveillance, there likely wouldn’t be any real issues. Again, Yuri kept a clean profile. But the lack of legal ramifications didn’t mean that the social ramifications were any less real, or any less dangerous. And besides that… Yuri had seen no evidence that Otabek felt remotely the same way.

Otabek turned, and Yuri averted his gaze to the scratched up table. He liked this bar because it was small and quiet, and he could actually talk to his friends without anyone ruining the night. On top of that, it was equidistant between his apartment and Mila’s. Otabek lived further out, but, having become Yuri’s friend later on, he hadn’t had much of a say in where they met up.

Otabek handed Yuri the beer and Berliner Luft, and Yuri murmured his thanks. Otabek held up his schnapps glass. “I don’t think we need to wait for Mila for this. Yura, you are the best friend I’ve ever had in my life, and I’m so incredibly thrilled that you’re going to be in the same illustrious company as Helene Weigel and Ernst Busch. I’m so proud of you, and I wish you only the best.”

Yuri clinked his glass with Otabek’s and threw back the sweet peppermint liqueur. “You’re lucky that was in Russian, you asshole,” Yuri said after he’d put his schnapps glass on the table. “That was sentimental even for you.”

Otabek simply smiled and shrugged. “I’m happy for you.”

“I can see that.” He started sipping at his beer. It was a Pilsner, as was typical for the city. He wasn’t overly fond of Pilsners, but beer was beer. Yuri knew that he needed to keep his wits about him. He trusted Otabek, but he knew that eyes and ears were everywhere. “How’s the opera?”

Otabek shrugged. “It’s going well,” he said, “but tonight’s your night, Yura. Tell me about the play you’re rehearsing right now.”

Otabek, to his merit, was an attentive listener, and Yuri did enjoy being the centre of attention (it was part of why he was an actor, after all). “Well,” Yuri said, “I was going to wait until Mila gets here, but…” he checked his watch. “She’s late, as usual, so might as well.” He took a sip of his beer, as if to give Mila a few extra seconds to rush in. “It’s not even Brecht, to start with. Which is fine, really, because it’s Wedekind.”

“Wedekind?” Otabek asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you doing one of the Lulu plays?”

Yuri shook his head. “ _Spring Awakening_.”

Otabek took a sip of his own beer. “Please tell me you won’t be playing a rapist.”

Yuri wasn’t remotely surprised that his friend knew the play immediately. He shook his head again. “You’re looking at the Berliner Ensemble’s own Hänschen Rilow.” 

Otabek nearly choked on his beer. “ _Hänschen_?”

Yuri narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. I mean, they weren’t going to bring a newcomer on as Moritz. Even if Moritz was, admittedly, the role I auditioned for.”

“Doesn’t Hänschen, uh…?”

Hänschen did two things of note in the play, and Yuri wondered which his friend was thinking of. “Masturbate onstage? Or kiss another boy? Either way, yes, he does.”

“So you’ll be…” 

“ _Acting_ ,” Yuri stressed. “ _Believe_ me, I will not _actually_ be masturbating onstage.”

“Right,” Otabek said, “I know _that_ , but you’ll be kissing another man.”

“ _Acting_ ,” Yuri repeated, feeling a strange twinge in his gut. Perhaps he hadn’t told Otabek _everything_.

Otabek looked like he was on the verge of saying something else, but instead, he picked up his pint glass and drank it all. Yuri watched, eyes wide, as Otabek excused himself to go back to the bar.

It was while Otabek was at the bar that Mila appeared. “Sorry I’m late! Got held up!”

“It’s fine,” Yuri said, not really looking twice at her.

“You know,” Mila said, “if you’re much more obvious about him…”

“Shut up, hag,” Yuri said. He regretted ever letting it slip to Mila, in a drunken haze of homesickness three years prior, that he was interested in men the same way she was. “I told him I was cast as Hänschen Rilow and he… started acting strange.”

Mila shrugged. “I can talk to him, if you want?”

Yuri shrugged. “It’s whatever.” It wasn’t, but Yuri wasn’t about to admit that. He hadn’t drunk nearly enough – and he wouldn’t drink that much in public.

“Yuri,” Mila said, leaning over the table toward him. “You know he’s been down to Charlotte von Mahlsdorf’s museum more than a few times, don’t you?”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “And where did you hear this, Mila?” There was no way someone like Otabek would ever be caught dead anywhere near that scene.

Mila hesitated for half a second before tossing her hair. “ _Reliable sources_ , Yura. It’s not as if there’s a dearth of gay people in the theatre. Anyway, you can believe me or not. I don’t care. I’m getting some pfeffi and beer.” She left Yuri alone at the table with his thoughts.

There was no way Mila was right. There was no way in the world that Otabek was _gay_. He was too… well, there was no indication that he might be gay. But if he weren’t gay, then that meant his reaction at Yuri’s new role was something different, and altogether far more unpleasant.

Yuri scratched at the table with his fingernail, and Otabek came back moments later with a bottle of Berliner Luft and another Pilsner. Without saying a word, Otabek unscrewed the bottle of liqueur and poured himself a shot, which he drank.

“Are you okay?” Yuri asked.

“Why wouldn't I be?” Otabek replied in a tone that implied there were multiple reasons.

“It's a job,” Yuri said, “and it's not the Volksbühne, or anything, but it's a gigantic fucking step up from what I've been doing since I moved here.”

“I know,” Otabek said. “I'm happy for you. Really.”

“Try to act like it, okay? If my kissing another man as part of my _job_ disturbs you, tell me.”

“It doesn't,” Otabek said. “You've played a lot of diverse parts. I certainly wouldn't begrudge you a job. It's not as if you taking this role makes me think… you've played killers before, and you're nothing like them.”

“Are you… upset because I'm playing this role without being an _openly_ gay man?”

Otabek shook his head, but Yuri caught something in his expression. He was on to something. Holy fucking shit, was Mila actually _right_?

Otabek took another shot, and Mila returned to the table with a glass of beer and a shot of Berliner Luft of her own. “So,” she said, “I'm sure Otabek already gave a disgustingly sentimental speech, so I'll just say that I'm incredibly fucking jealous and I hope you break both of your legs.”

Yuri actually managed a laugh at that. “Thanks, Milusha.”

Mila shot back her pfeffi and smiled sweetly at him. “If you call me Milusha again, I'll skin you alive.”

“Okay, Lyudmila,” Yuri said, grinning as Mila’s expression turned murderous. “It's a good name,” he said. “I'm a cosmonaut and you're a sniper who killed over three hundred fascists.”

That, at least, made Mila smile. “But then what's Otabek?”

Yuri looked at his best friend. “Otabek is Otabek. A lovable bookworm and pretentious asshole who thinks he's cool for playing French horn.” 

Otabek blushed, visible even in the dim light of the bar. “I don't think I'm _cool,_ ” he said. He poured himself another shot of Berliner Luft and drank it.

“You _do_ have a better job than either of us,” Mila pointed out.

Otabek shrugged. “I _did_ go to music school, you know.”

“We know,” Yuri said. “And you’ve lived here longer than either of us. And you _are_ cool. Most of the time.” He sipped at his beer.

“Well, thanks,” Otabek said. “I think.”

Yuri smiled at him. “You’re welcome. Now. Speaking of you having a better job than me and Mila… how’s the opera?”

* * *

A few hours (and a few beers) later, Yuri was feeling about ready to go. Mila looked antsy and Otabek… well, Otabek was drunk.

He leaned into Yuri, who wondered just how much he’d had to drink. Surely he hadn’t finished the _entire_ bottle of Berliner Luft? “Okay,” Yuri said, trying not to focus on the fact that only a few thin layers of fabric separated his skin from Otabek’s. “I think it’s time to get you home.”

“He lives all the way in Friedrichshain,” Mila said. She had a point. It was a ways away, and Yuri had never seen Otabek so drunk.

“Well,” Yuri said, making the decision in a split second. “He can come home with me. It’s just around the corner.”

“I’d _love_ to go home with you, _Yurasya_.”

Yuri tried his best to act like the diminutive (which was a new one for Otabek, who usually stuck with the tried and true “Yura”) had no effect on him. “ _Okay_ ,” he said slowly, helping Otabek to his feet. “Definitely time to get you out of public. Mila – a little help?”

“Sure,” Mila agreed, stepping over to Otabek’s other side. Together, they helped him to Yuri’s apartment. It wasn’t a huge feat – they were both taller than Otabek, and Mila, for one, was a lot stronger than she looked. The stairs were a bit tricky, but they managed, and once they’d made it safely to Yuri’s apartment door, Mila left. Yuri could manage supporting Otabek alone from there, so he unlocked the door and pressed the button to turn on the light.

They made it past the threshold before Otabek collapsed, nearly bringing Yuri down with him. “Pyotya!” he called. “Ksksksks!”

Yuri rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics and shut the door behind them and locked up. Otabek rolled around on the floor, trying to play with a disinterested Pyotya. 

“God only knows how I ever thought you were calm, cool, and collected,” Yuri muttered.

“You’re an atheist,” Otabek said. “You don’t believe in god.”

Yuri scoffed.

“But,” Otabek continued, “I don’t know how you ever thought I was _cool_ , either. You’re the really cool one.”

“Uh,” Yuri said, unsure of what he could say to that. Otabek thought he was _cool_?

“Who’s playing Ernst?”

“What?” Yuri asked, feeling like he had conversational whiplash.

“In the play,” Otabek said, still on the floor with the cat. Christ, when was the last time Yuri had swept? “Who’s playing Ernst?”

Oh – that was definitely a change of topic. Yuri shrugged. “His name’s Dieter Fuchs. Kind of a newcomer, I guess.”

“I don’t know him.”

“I don’t really, either.”

“Yura,” Otabek said. He tried to get up, but very nearly fell on Pyotya, so Yuri helped him onto the sofa. When Yuri went to get some water from the kitchen, Otabek grabbed his arm. “Yura. Yurasya. Wait.”

Yuri stayed, although he didn’t really know why. Otabek was drunk, and if Yuri were really smart, he’d have gone straight to his tiny bedroom after he’d locked the door. But he hadn’t.

“I trust you, you know,” Otabek said, leaning close to Yuri. “You could be an IM, for all I know, but I don’t even care.”

“I trust you, too,” Yuri said, because what else could he say? And it was true; he trusted Otabek implicitly.

Otabek leaned in and kissed him. Holy shit, was this really happening? Otabek caressed his cheek, and Yuri leaned in to his touch. This was a bad idea. Otabek was his _best friend_.

Otabek’s kisses were sloppy, and Yuri couldn’t help but wonder just how often Otabek had done this before.

After about a minute, Yuri forced himself to pull away. “Beka.”

“Yura, please don’t.”

“You… you need to sleep.”

“I’m in love with you.” He was _drunk_ , was what he was. Yuri wasn’t equipped to deal with this; he’d never been good with _emotions_ , whether they were his or someone else’s. Sure, he could pull off pretty much anything onstage, but that was different. This was all too real.

Yuri bit his lip. “You’re drunk,” he said, trying to keep his tone as gentle as possible. “Let me get you a duvet and a pillow, and we’ll talk about this in the morning, okay?”

Otabek looked about ready to jump out the third storey window, so, in spite of his better judgement, Yuri kissed his cheek, heart hammering away in his chest all the while. “I _promise_ we’ll discuss it in the morning. I want us both to have a clear head, all right?”

“Okay,” Otabek said.

“Now, let me get you a duvet and pillow…”

* * *

The next morning, Yuri woke before Otabek and desperately needed something to do. In an attempt to take his mind off the inevitably life-changing conversation that was sure to happen as soon as Otabek woke, Yuri made breakfast.

Okay, maybe pirozhki weren't traditionally a breakfast food, but they were the only thing Yuri could cook well. He decided to bake them, and had just put them in the oven when Otabek padded into the tiny kitchen, looking worse for the wear.

Although his heart was pounding in his chest, Yuri managed a, “Morning,” that didn't sound too forced.

“Yura,” Otabek said.

“I made pirozhki.”

“You said we’d talk in the morning. It's morning.”

Yuri sighed. “Okay. Uh, let me just set the timer so these don't burn.” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the kitchen timer and set it for twenty minutes. He set it back down on the counter before turning to Otabek. “Let’s go talk in the living room.”

Otabek hesitated, so Yuri led the way. Pyotya was sitting on the arm of the sofa, so he sat down next to her and pulled her into his lap. “So,” Yuri said.

“I meant what I said last night,” Otabek said, standing awkwardly in the hall. “And I shouldn't have just kissed you, but…”

“But I kissed you back,” Yuri said, sounding more confident than he felt.

“I understand if you don't want anything to do with me from this point on,” Otabek said, as if he hadn't just heard Yuri.

“I _kissed you back_ , Beka. Christ. You know I'm not good at this whole… _feelings_ thing. But are you honestly so fucking obtuse that you'd think I wouldn't want my very best friend in my life anymore just because you _kissed_ me? Give me a little credit, for fuck’s sake.”

Otabek hesitated. “So you… still want to be friends?”

“Of fucking course I do. And are you going to tell me why you got drunk in the first place last night? You know as well as I do that this apartment’s probably bugged.”

“Being gay isn't a crime. Not anymore. We’re both over twenty-one.”

“Beka.”

Otabek ran a hand through his hair. “I was jealous. And I know I don't have any right to be, but… when it was girls, I could tell myself that was fine because I wouldn't stand a chance anyway. But with you kissing another man…”

“In a _play._ As part of my _job_. You seem to keep missing that little detail.”

“That doesn't mean… it's still _you_. I still want to be the one to kiss you in front of everyone.”

“You can be, you know. As long as you don't get weird about me doing my job.”

“...What?”

Yuri focused his attention on Pyotya. “Look, you said you were in love with me, and you just said that you meant it. Is that true?”

“Of course it's true. And I've tried to push it away, but… I can't.”

“You don't _have to,_ though,” Yuri said. He still didn't feel brave enough to look up at him, but at least he was talking. “Beka, look. I'll be honest. Uh… I've been… I've liked you since… well, since we met, really. And I mean… I don't know about _love_ , but I've definitely thought way too much about just shoving you up against a wall and making out with you.”

“Oh,” Otabek said.

“And… if you actually want to date me… that'd be nice.”

“ _Oh_.”

Yuri managed to gather the courage to look Otabek in the eyes then. “So, are you going to kiss me or not, asshole?”

Otabek’s lips quirked upward just the slightest bit. Anyone else would have missed it, but Yuri didn't. “That depends,” Otabek said. “Are we officially dating?”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “I thought that was a given.”

That was, apparently, enough for Otabek, who walked over, leaned in and kissed him.

* * *

A few hours later, after much making out, some pirozhki for breakfast, and some more making out, Otabek and Yuri left to go to his apartment.

It was a nice day, so they got off at Alexanderplatz and walked down Karl-Marx-Allee. They didn't walk hand-in-hand, of course, but they stayed close to each other. At the Weltzeituhr, Yuri paused, looking at the time in Moscow. “My grandfather applied to leave. Apparently my mother’s grown a conscience and has agreed to sponsor him. It actually looks like it'll go through this time.”

Otabek squeezed his shoulder. “He grew up in a different era.”

“I can't really fault him,” Yuri said, “ _I_ don't want to leave, but… he’s a lot more observant than I am, and the government’s started relaxing on emigration.”

“Well,” Otabek said, “you can still write. And maybe some day you'll be able to visit.”

Yuri scoffed. “Maybe.” He doubted it. “I'm visiting him for New Years. He hopes it'll be his last in Moscow.”

“He's an old man,” Otabek said. “Your mother’s one of those… well, capitalist pigs. He’ll be fine with her, at least financially.” 

“I hope so.” 

Otabek squeezed Yuri’s shoulder again. “Let’s go see a movie.”

Yuri walked alongside him all the way to Kino International. The only film playing with tickets still available was _Zum Beispiel Josef_ , which Yuri had already seen a few times, but he had nothing against seeing it again.  

In the dark of the cinema, Yuri laced his fingers through Otabek’s. Things would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> No footnotes as such, to keep the surprise.
> 
> This fic is set in East Germany in 1974. (if you know my research interests at all, that should not surprise you one bit). And no, please, Otabek isn't a Stasi officer or an IM (Inoffizielle Mitarbeiter). They're both old enough to have legally had a sexual relationship with another man in East Germany. 
> 
> There's no far-off tragic ending for these two in the little universe I've imagined here (is there ever with me?). They end up happy, together, making a living. Otabek's probably a little bit too much of a socialist idealist in this universe to blindly follow the government, but I also think he's too smart to actually try to speak out.
> 
> It was, in the 1950s when Yuri's mother left, very, very, very difficult for Soviet Jews to emigrate to the West. By the mid-70s (when this is set), it had become much easier, although it was certainly still difficult.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I have a guide to my references and background information for this fic on my [tumblr](https://xslytherclawx.tumblr.com/post/167361552931/works-referenced-for-the-trouble-with-h%C3%A4nschen).


End file.
